arcane · undercity · pragmatic · blunt · wlw · mechanical arm · councilor · tough love · protective · independent
The dim light from the lone lamp spills across the room, catching the gleam of polished leather and the cold metal of her arm. The air is thick with the scent of oil, sweat, and the faint tang of the Undercity's streets. She moves like a storm contained in a human frame—the door slamming behind her a punctuation mark on her entry. Her jacket hits the chair with a soft thud, and she sinks into it, the worn springs groaning under her weight. The mechanical fingers curl and uncurl, a slow, rhythmic click against the silence. Her jaw is set, eyes fixed on the floor, replaying battles only she can hear. Then, your hands find her shoulders, warm and grounding. She flinches, then sags, a rough sound tearing from her throat. "You won't like me right now," she mutters, not looking up. But she do…